Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 95046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
I'm curled into Lorcan like he's a life raft, but life rafts are for people who plan to survive.
I don't want to survive this.
How do you survive the death of the man who rewired your entire nervous system? The man who taught you that submission could feel like safety?
Lorcan's saying something soft in Irish.
It can't fix this.
Nothing can.
The security gate alert makes my entire body jump.
Lorcan goes rigid against me. His body shifts from comforting to tactical in half a heartbeat—the kind of shift that says threat assessment in progress. He pulls away carefully, like I'm made of glass that might shatter if he moves too fast.
I don't care who's at the gate. Could be the LaRiccias coming to finish the job. Could be the Grim Reaper himself. Doesn't matter.
Lorcan crosses to the security panel, keys open the camera feed and intercom. I watch him freeze.
He presses a button that must open the gate, then opens the front door and waits on the threshold. A few moments later, Jino walks through.
His eyes find me immediately.
I'm up before I decide to move, my body operating on autopilot. I crash into his chest, and the floodgates open all over again. Crying harder now because Jino is here, which means it's real. It's not a nightmare I can wake up from.
"He's dead," I choke out against Jino's shirt, fisting my hands in the fabric. "Is it true? Tell me it's not true—"
"Wait." Jino's voice cuts through my spiral, sharp and confused. His hands grip my shoulders, holding me at arm's length so he can see my face. "Who's dead?"
I blink up at him through tears, my brain short-circuiting.
Lorcan and I look at each other.
"Giovanni turned himself in to Luca LaRiccia," Lorcan says, his voice steady despite the devastation bleeding through his eyes.
Jino's face goes completely blank.
Lorcan continues, his voice steady, but his hands are shaking. "My Uncle Fearghus got word from New York a few hours ago. Giovanni drove to the LaRiccia compound in Little Italy. He threatened them, or something. Fearghus wasn't clear. Only that the guards pulled him out of his Lamborghini by the throat. Giovanni hit the ground hard. They dragged his body inside the building. Took his car." He pauses. "They think he's dead, Jino. It didn't look good. He was covered in blood. A head injury."
The words hit me again, sharper this time.
Pulled from his car by the throat. Hit the ground. Covered in blood.
My brain builds a movie I don't want to watch—Giovanni's face smashed against concrete, suit torn and ruined, blood matting his dark hair. Those green eyes that could silence a room—empty.
I can't breathe.
We'll never finish our poetry.
Jino's brow furrows, confusion bleeding through his usually controlled expression. "Dead? What? No. Giovanni's not dead. He called me hours ago with specific instructions."
"What?" Lorcan and I say it simultaneously.
Jino looks between us like we've lost our minds. "He ordered me to bring Dom and Ricky to Boston immediately. Told me to get them settled in a hotel downtown—keep them out of the way. Then he commanded me to report here after I dropped them off." He pauses, studying our faces. "He didn't mention anything about going to Little Italy."
"Well," Lorcan snaps. "He definitely went. I saw the fucking—" His words cut out, his gray eyes meeting mine. But quickly slide back to lock on Jino. When he continues, his voice is low, almost a whisper. "I saw the footage, Jino. It looked… bad."
The gate alarm screams again.
I flinch hard enough that my teeth click together.
Lorcan's already moving to the security monitor, Jino right behind him. Their movements are identical—that professional synchronicity that comes from years of being armed and paranoid for a living.
On screen, the Aventador sits at the gate.
Black. Sleek. Unmistakable.
My heart stops, then restarts at triple speed.
The window tint is so dark I can't see inside.
Giovanni could be inside. Alive. Coming for me.
Or his body could be slumped in the driver's seat, staged there as a message.
Or LaRiccia soldiers could be behind that wheel, driving his car because they want us to open the gate thinking it's safe.
Or it could be rigged. A bomb. A threat I can't even imagine.
I don't know.
And not knowing is worse than any answer.
Lorcan and Jino move in perfect tandem—both drawing weapons so fast I barely track the motion.
I stand frozen between them, my heart hammering so hard I can hear blood rushing in my ears.
Lorcan reaches for the remote gate control.
He presses the button.
The steel gates swing open. The Aventador pulls forward. Slowly. Too slowly.
The car stops in the center of the courtyard, engine purring that low, expensive growl.
Still no one can see through those windows.
I hold my breath.
The driver's door opens.
Giovanni emerges.
And I—
I break.
Completely.
Tears flood down my face before I even register I'm crying. Not grief anymore. Relief. So violent and overwhelming I can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything except feel.